Pao stood by the doorway of the inn, her hands behind her back, shifting on her heels as if unsure whether to speak up or disappear. Amukelo was tightening the straps on his training gloves, the change of their training program. He didn't notice her at first until she stepped closer and cleared her throat lightly.
"Hey... Amu," she said, her voice softer than usual but lacking that frantic awkwardness she used to carry. There was still a slight blush on her face, but she held herself better now—more composed, more confident in her own skin.
Amukelo turned, raising an eyebrow with a smile. "Hey, Pao. What's up?"
She hesitated for a second, then spoke quickly like the words might run away if she didn't get them out. "I wanted to buy a new grimoire, and I thought… maybe you could come with me? If you're not busy?"
Amukelo blinked. "Oh. Sure. I don't think we'll have classes today anyway. Bral, Idin, and I are switching to individual training, so they're redoing our schedule. I've got time."
Pao's expression brightened instantly. "Really? Great. Amazing—thanks!"
Then, just as quickly as she came, she turned on her heel and jogged off with a spring in her step. Over her shoulder, she said with a playful grin, "This time, I'll be ready!"
Amukelo watched her go, confused but amused. "Ready? Ready for what?" he muttered to himself, but couldn't help smiling.
Later that morning, the three of them—Amukelo, Bral, and Idin—arrived at the training facility.
They walked up to the front counter where Ewan was, as always, keeping everything in order. He looked up from a logbook and offered them a nod. "Oh, hey. The Eternal Embers. What can I do for you?"
Bral leaned casually against the counter. "We want to switch to individual training. Heard it's the next step if we want to sharpen our strengths."
Idin added, "And we also heard it's best to train with a partner. We were hoping all three of us could still train together though."
Ewan raised an eyebrow, his lips curling slightly into a grin. "Already going for personal sessions? I shouldn't be surprised. Your progress has been solid—and fast. I'm guessing the quests are treating you well, then?"
Amukelo nodded. "We've been pushing ourselves. And it's starting to pay off."
"Well," Ewan said, flipping through a few pages in the logbook, "you're right. Pairs tend to get the best results in individual training since the instructor can focus entirely on two people, tailoring the drills for their synergy. But three isn't unheard of. Just know the instructor will have to split their attention a bit more."
Bral shrugged. "That's fine. We're used to working together."
Ewan scribbled a few notes, then looked back up. "So all three of you want to switch to the individual program officially?"
They nodded in unison.
"Alright," Ewan said. "I'll inform Master Dainor. You'll have another sparring session today, like when you first joined. It's not about testing whether you belong—it's to see how much you've grown, what new habits you've developed, and who should train you going forward."
Bral frowned. "Wait. But they've already seen us fight. Can't they just pull the records or something?"
Ewan chuckled. "The records help, but they don't show your instincts, your rhythm, or the nuance in how you've adapted. Like you," he pointed to Idin, "you picked up a shield. That changes everything about your style—your posture, your spacing, your openings. You're a different fighter now than you were when you joined. That goes for all of you."
Amukelo nodded thoughtfully. It made sense. He had changed more than just his strength. His entire fighting philosophy had shifted—from lethal efficiency to control and non-lethal takedowns. If they were going to assign him someone to help refine that, he wanted them to know exactly how he fought now.
"Alright," Bral said. "Let's get it done."
"I'll go let Dainor know," Ewan said, stepping away from the counter. "Head to the sparring arena. Warm up in the meantime."
As time passed, word began to spread throughout the facility that the members of the Eternal Ember Guild were scheduled for a sparring evaluation. First, it was a quiet mention near the equipment rack. And before long, it was echoing through the halls like a drumbeat. People started drifting toward the arena—some out of curiosity, others out of admiration.
Amukelo, Bral, and Idin stood near the center of the training floor, warming up with quiet focus. Amukelo practiced light footwork, shifting between quick steps and balanced stances. Bral did shoulder rolls and some vertical swings, getting used to the momentum of his blade again. Idin stood calmly, adjusting the grip on his shield, testing how his sword felt alongside it.
As the arena slowly filled with onlookers—trainees, instructors, even a few guild members who didn't train there regularly—some of them began calling out greetings.
"Yo, Eternal Embers!"
"Bral, make sure you don't embarrass us!"
Amukelo smiled modestly and gave a small nod to the people around. He wasn't used to the attention yet. It still felt surreal. But he appreciated it. All of it. The camaraderie. The respect. It made the exhaustion of these last few months feel worth it.
Then master Dainor entered through the side gate of the arena with his usual calm presence—his dark robes trailing lightly behind him, his stride steady and deliberate. Every head turned, and almost all conversations died down instantly. He walked up to the center and gave the three of them a long, silent look before speaking.
"I hear you've come to request a change in your training," he said, his voice carrying clearly through the room despite its quiet tone. "Shifting from group instruction to personalized development."
The three of them nodded and gave a respectful bow.
Dainor's lips curved into a small, knowing smile. "Good. I've been expecting it. The question now is—how far have you come since I saw you in real combat?"
Bral stepped forward, adjusting the strap on his sword. "So… who are we fighting? Are they already here?"
Dainor turned and gestured to the rest of the arena. "Your opponents?" he said with a raised brow. "Why, they're already standing in front of me."
Amukelo, Bral, and Idin all glanced at one another in confusion.
"You'll be fighting each other," Dainor continued. "I've heard that you plan to train together, so I see no better way to gauge your progress than to test you against yourselves."
Amukelo blinked. "Huh… come to think of it, I've never actually fought either of you."
Bral grinned, cracking his knuckles. "This should be fun."
"First match," Dainor said, stepping back and folding his hands behind his back. "Bral versus Idin. You two were in the same training class, so you should be familiar with each other's strengths. This match will be best of five, but like before—each round ends with one clean strike. Just like your first evaluation. Is that clear?"
Both nodded and moved to their positions on the sparring floor.
A quiet buzz spread through the crowd. Everyone had seen them train, but few had seen them go head-to-head.
Dainor raised his hand, gave them a moment to find their stances, then brought it down. "Begin."
Bral was the first to move. He launched forward with controlled aggression, swinging his longsword in a wide arc. Idin, as expected, raised his shield, catching the blow with practiced ease.
Idin immediately responded with a counter slash of his broadsword, but Bral had anticipated it. With a swift backstep, he avoided the attack by inches, his cloak brushing against the blade's edge.
Bral didn't wait—he stepped right back in and changed the angle of his sword. This time he thrust instead of slashing, looking to strike through the gap in Idin's defense. But Idin reacted quickly again, turning his shield inward and angling the blade away just enough to deflect it.
The tempo picked up. Bral was lighter on his feet, weaving in and out, using his reach. Idin kept himself grounded, waiting for the right moment to press forward.
Idin stepped in with force, attempting to close the gap and leverage his shield's weight. But Bral didn't back away this time. Instead, he adjusted his grip and rotated his sword down in a low sweep.
The blade glided just beneath the rim of the shield and touched the exposed area between Idin's shin guard and boots.
Dainor raised his hand. "Bral wins the first round."
There was a burst of polite applause from the onlookers. Some murmurs rippled through the crowd—surprise at Bral's improved footwork, admiration for the way he read the movement.
Idin stepped back with a grin, shaking his head. "Didn't think you'd go low."
Bral shrugged. "You've gotten predictable with that shield. Had to adapt."